Anti-Depressed
by Mr.Baratheon97
Summary: Takeru struggles. Life wasn't fair - of course, he knew as much. He just wish that sometimes, it was easy. He thinks he can do it. He can make things easy. Maybe he succeeds.
1. Chapter 1

The lights were off; the dark, blue glow emanating through the woven fabric of the shut curtains was the only real source of light in the living area as Takeru trudged from the bathroom to the kitchen space. It wasn't even night-time, but light was low - maybe it was a dreary, cloudy day?

Takeru hadn't even looked outside. Being totally honest, he wasn't actually sure of the time anyway. The little television was still on, flickering between static and nothing - something had shorted inside it yesterday (the fizz and subsequent bang had been proof enough for him), and he daren't attempt to fix it or touch it at all.

The whole apartment was cold - the flat breeze that ventilated the room was chilly, pricking his skin. But Takeru didn't feel it so much.

Takeru didn't think he'd really felt anything in a long time.

The pill-bottle in his pocket shook loosely as he poured himself a glass of water that was neither hot nor cold, and the sink gurgled for a minute before all sound in the apartment petered out. Takeru brought the glass of water to the coffee table, before setting it down and slumping onto the sofa. And then out it came, the little plastic bottle. His latest best friend. For a split second, he thought he saw a jeering smile amid the bands of dull colour and text. The prescription - Yamato's prescription - was in Takeru's bin, slightly torn and hidden beneath shredded envelopes and a tea-stained essay and several crumpled balls of lined paper. Takeru didn't even know what the prescription said; he had read it, sure, but he couldn't quite remember, not that he was really trying. He was… _self-medicating_.

Takeru quickly popped the bottle open, and downed five pills with a few desperate gulps of water, resting another two on the table as a top-up for later on. There were still a few in the bottle. He purposely didn't think about the numbers so much. He knew that if he kept a proper tally, he'd never truly feel guilt-free. They were helping him, so why _not_ take lots of them?

Just taking them, he felt better, as if knowing that the pills would soon be in his system was accelerating their effects. He had been playing doctor for a while - and he had quickly diagnosed himself as seriously depressed. Or had he decided that after his first dosage? And what about the ones that had followed? Takeru had, not that he was particularly bothered, lost count of how many pills he'd taken. Conscious of the lack of number on his mind he sat back, smiling to himself. Maybe, he thought to himself, he would finally be anti-depressed.

He absent-mindedly rubbed the itchiness from the back of his left hand with the television remote, pressing the on button by mistake, and suddenly the screen flashed blindingly before settling completely on static - the low buzz building on top of the dynamic humming that had both lulled him to sleep last night and woken him up that morning.

Frowning, he said to himself (for there was no one around), 'Aw what, no sitcoms?'

And then he burst out laughing, at himself. Not that there was really anything funny to laugh about. He wasn't even that much of a joker these days.

Takeru thought of himself as a great actor. He acted all the time, more often than he knew was healthy. So often had Takeru been acting, that he had given up trying to remember who he really was.

He was a better actor than Yamato, who Takeru knew still felt down from time to time but never said anything. Yamato was better at forgetting than Takeru, though, and didn't really have to say anything because he was strong enough to deal with his internal crises. Takeru needed the pills to help him forget. Yamato didn't need them anymore, so presumably no one would mind Takeru having them – he needed them more than anyone else now. He knew that he'd feel all the darkness and upset that he strove to forget all over again if he stopped taking them, and it would be doubly hard to ignore his demons if he quit.

For some reason, he felt pretty indifferent about the pills - it would be more prudent, Takeru believed, to enjoy whatever calm and jollity he could muster before he went insane and the _real_ happiness kicked in – the one where he couldn't think for himself. By shovelling the pills down, he thought he could suppress his suffering - the idea had held promise after the first pill had mollified his shaking hands and aching eyes.

Takeru knew he was a good actor - he'd been a golden child to an over-worked single mother, an image of strength to a distant father and a faithful younger brother to an equally-mistreated older brother. He had other roles too; confidant, best friend, acquaintance, advisor, protector, back-up, defender, _leader_ even...

Don't forget the big one – _the guardian_ _angel_.

Angel. He wasn't. He was an actor, a liar - and he was pretty sure everyone else knew as much inside. No one feigns interest in an angel, like they'd feign an interest in him. No one believed that he could hurt – at least, that was what Takeru believed. He must have been convincing enough an actor, though, if everyone felt confident enough that he could carry their burdens as well as his own. He'd done little to dissuade them of it despite wanting comfort; Takeru hadn't shirked any of his responsibilities, ever.

But sacrifices were tall orders.

Inhibitions lowered a little more. 'I'm _not_ an angel.' He assured himself, sounding childishly insistent as he picked up his glass and considered the gleam of the television light through its curves. And then, he threw the glass and it smashed against the wall. Water and chunky shards of poorly-tempered glass landed across the wall and wooden floor, but were immediately ignored and forgotten.

Takeru could be bad too, he could prove it. Feeling a heat rising up his chest, Takeru sat up again and stood up before making his way to the sink for another drink. Water might cool down his hot head.

When he saw his fleeting reflection in the microwave door, he didn't expect to see Yamato's eyes. The eyes he'd seen definitely weren't his. He stepped backwards and peered at the face in the glass, inspecting closer; yes, he really had become Yamato. _His_ eyes were of a darker blue than Takeru's own, and deeper, and sharper…

… And honest…

 _'Are you actually going to put up a fight this time, or what?' Yamato had teased with an airy laugh, flicking the joysticks of his controller as Takeru struggled horribly with his own._

 _'Shut up, Yamato. It's not my fault I only learned the controls ten minutes ago. Maybe you taught me wrong.'_

 _'Maybe if you weren't in such a crappy mood, you'd have concentrated more when I was teaching you.' Yamato laughed, eyes focused only on the screen._

 _Takeru grit his teeth, and muttered dejectedly, 'But I was concentrating!'_

 _When Yamato finally stopped playing around with him and won swiftly, Takeru leant back against the sofa cushions. The older blonde chuckled, before sliding up onto the sofa and setting his controller down on the table. He asked, 'Are you gonna be ok by yourself for a while?'_

 _Takeru's face fell further, and he concentrated on the television screen. 'I thought you were hanging out here today...with me.'_

 _'Well, I am,' the other said hesitantly, 'or, at least that's what I've told mom. The band wants to meet, and I've already promised to be there. You know how it is, right?'_

 _'Right... When'll you be back?'_

 _'Well, when does mom get home?'_

 _'About a quarter to ten.'_

 _'Half-nine then. Latest, though, I swear.'_

 _'I guess. But don't you-'_

 _Takeru's voice was meek, and Yamato barely acknowledged it as he ruffled his younger's brother's hair and grabbed his jacket. Not even looking back as he slipped his trainers on and adjusted the laces, Yamato clarified, 'You'll open the door for me when I get back, yeah?'_

 _'Ok, Yamato.'_

Takeru glumly wondered whether he should've gotten a written, contract-style promise from Yamato that stated that he'd actually be a brother to him from time to time, all those years ago. They were hardly even friends nowadays.

He regretted not having a go at Yamato back then, and hiding his burnt hands when his mother came home that night, a mere ten minutes after Yamato had come back. Takeru remembered when his hands slipped around the pan of hot water as he tried to make some dinner, and he clearly remembered the exact moment the scalding liquid caught his fingers and the searing pain as he bathed his hands under the cold tap. He'd worn gloves for weeks afterwards, and convinced everyone he was going through a phase.

He may have been a child, but he wasn't an idiot. His hands had since healed, and very well at that. Wasn't _he_ lucky? Just remembering what had happened way back when sent shivers running across his palms.

Feeling his hands, the back of his left one felt rougher. Or maybe his senses were kidding themselves. Closer inspection revealed little numbers of black ink. Takeru had no idea what they were doing there, on the back of his hand. He looked at the tap for a moment, cradling his hand, before acting in the negative and fishing another glass from the cupboard. Washing his hands had not gotten rid of the marks the last time he'd tried, he recalled.

Why couldn't he remember what they meant, though? His forehead felt that bit heavier and he really regretted ditching his first glass of water now.

Wait, hang on- the meaning of the elusive numbers hit him out of nowhere. _Hikari's new mobile number_. Takeru looked at the numbers with a frown. Hadn't he told Hikari how much he hated when she carved into his skin with her ball-points like he was her own giant sketchbook? Sure, he let her play with his hair sometimes, but that was completely different.

He didn't even specifically remember meeting Hikari recently. Had it been yesterday? Or the day before? Either way, Takeru didn't want to see her again for a while. He needed to sort himself out - to be her angel again.

On one hand, he didn't want to break - for Hikari's sake. On the other, Takeru was kind of already broken. What Hikari saw in him, he wasn't sure… he didn't think he really saw anything worthwhile in himself. She was good like that, but sometimes she just felt like a lie…

 _'Takeru, I was thinking about our future.'_

 _'We have futures? Hmm, I'd never have thought it. I figured we'd be fighting Digimon one day, and then romancing into the sunset and then repeating the next day and-'_

 _'Takeru!'_

 _It wasn't very late, but late enough that Takeru had had to beg his mother to let him out. As soon as he'd mentioned Hikari, however, she'd relented. Everyone seemed to have a soft spot for the two of them - especially when they were together. He liked Hikari more than anyone else. One of his weaknesses was that he couldn't really deny her anything, ever. And yet, he wasn't sure that he was even ready for such conversations – what had happened to living in the now? Takeru still had a family to fix…_

 _His jokey tone hid his uneasiness. Hikari took his arm, wrapping her around his, and he fell easily into the stroll. 'I was thinking about after high school.'_

 _'What, now?' Takeru asked, sounding nonchalant._

 _'Yes, now. We need to be prepared.' She said, slowing their pace._

 _Takeru said, more surely, 'I thought we'd already decided. You were going to apply to great schools and pick suitable back-ups and all the rest of it, and I was just going to apply to the same places and hope for the best.'_

 _'Isn't there more to that? Don't you want to do something?'_

 _No one would be there to protect her if he abandoned her. No way. Takeru, once again, had to be the responsible one. Not even Taichi could do as much for her as Takeru did._

 _'You know me... I'm more of a following kinda guy. Plus, I like where we're heading. All of your schools do my course too. We'll be together.'_

 _'Hmm, if we get good grades, that is.'_

 _'Hikari, we'll get good grades. Stop panicking.'_

 _She sighed, and let herself calm down. 'I guess I'll leave you to do the worrying, huh?'_

 _'Sounds about right.' Takeru laughed, though his eyes weren't sparkling with any mirth._

 _'You're always watching out for me. I've told you to stop, you know. Onii-chan only made you promise because we were eight-'_

 _'Hikari, I don't take orders from you, or Taichi-san - come on, you know that.'_

 _'Ooh, someone's being a sassy angel for me tonight, huh?'_

 _'Shut up!'_

 _They'd chuckled, and Hikari had swung their arms between them to burn her spare energy. They were both quiet - Takeru quite enjoyed the silence. And then, when he'd felt most at peace, a light bulb had seemingly lit in her head._

 _'Oh, Takeru! I just remembered something really important. My mobile number has changed. Dad found a pay-as-you-go tariff that has plenty of data and texts so-'_

Those numbers. Her phone number. Takeru didn't think that he'd be calling her anytime soon. He wanted to, sure, but he didn't think that Hikari would be of help at the moment. Maybe later, once he doesn't feel so unaware of himself, Takeru would call her.

As it was, he definitely felt different this time. Takeru didn't think he felt better or worse after ingesting the medicine, though. Deeper, maybe. Transcendent. Yeah, transcendent. No, was he dying? No, he couldn't be. At least, he felt tired and nevermore so alive. Takeru didn't even think his thoughts were making any sense anymore. He couldn't explain what he was doing – to feel again, he was making himself less responsive? On paper, it didn't sound right but it was working well enough for him so far.

There was an odd numbness in his head. The lack of stimulation was almost... pleasurable. The pair of pills on the coffee table would come in handy once the calming numbness fades, Takeru had figured. The feeling didn't last very long - hence the desire, no, the _necessity_ , to keep himself topped up. He knew his attention-span was taking the brunt of the damage - he wasn't an idiot.

Just the other day, he was sure he'd been talking, in person, to Yamato for at least a full hour, before his mother had asked him to put his phone down and come for dinner. But, there was no phone in his hand, only a mirror in front of him – and Yamato had disappeared. Hadn't Yamato been there, with him? Scratching his head now instead of his hand, Takeru went to take the two pills he'd set out, before running back to the sink and filling a glass - how many glasses had he taken out? He downed the pills quickly, so quickly that he thought he heard a slosh in his stomach.

There… Much better.

Hikari hadn't meant to run into Yamato. She hadn't really given him any thought that day. She was more occupied with the other brother. Sure, they still hung out, but it was never just the two of them. She knew Yamato was taking some time off from college while his band enjoyed a little bit of success - their feature on some radio show had landed them a live show, and Yamato had apparently convinced the university to allow him to put his studies on hiatus for a while in the hopes that this gig leads to another.

They'd walked straight into each other, too - it would have been quite comical had jars of sauces not been spilt. Had they not been angrily chased out of the convenience store and threatened with a rough-looking broom, they both would have offered to pay for the broken items and clean up the resulted mess. Hikari had been distraught.

They were two roads away when Yamato started to laugh at the situation.

Blue eyes amused, he laughed, 'And here I was thinking that Taichi was the only Yagami that would ever get me into trouble.'

Hikari slapped his arm, but it came out as more of a punch.

'Ow!'

'Seriously? Because of you, I have to start my shop all over again! That store is the only one around here that has the brand of soy I like, and now I'm going to have to settle for second best because _you_ can't watch where you're going!'

She punctuated her rant with a swing at Yamato with her trusty purse.

'Hey- look! I'm sorry, ok? Not that you were looking at where _you_ were going either, 'Kari.'

She huffed, clearly not having it. Yamato tried not to smile - Taichi usually did the exact same thing.

'Look,' he consented, 'we'll just go to another place now. We can shop together.'

She hesitated (she might have still been catching her breath) before relenting, 'Fine. You can carry my basket-'

'I didn't say that I wou-'

' _Yes_ , you _did_.'

The two walked to a different shop - the local superstore. Hikari hated going there, but she had no choice – not only was it further away from her place, it was also massive. The shelves were too high. The freezers were too deep. The trolleys were banged up-

'Yamato-san, I swear if you hit me with that trolley one more time-!'

'Hey, calm down 'Kari, it's not my fault the bloody wheels on this thing are jammed.'

Yamato had ended up doing most of the shopping, the reason being that Hikari was just shy in height of most of the shelves. She probably could have survived on her own, but why exert herself when there was a strapping guy who could do it all for her? At the till, they decided to just pay fifty-fifty. Their shops were already combined in the trolley, and they really couldn't be bothered to tally up what they'd bought individually. They bagged their separate things carefully before leaving, though.

It was three roads away from the shop when Yamato decided it was weird that they'd been taking the same way home. 'Hey, don't you live that way?' Yamato asked, indicating behind them.

'I'm going Takeru's. Surprise visit.'

'Seriously? I was going there too.'

Hikari's suspicion that the Yamato-fest her day had become wasn't going to end anytime soon now ultimately realised, her irritation gave way to exhaustion. She had planned to spend the day alone with Takeru - the younger blonde had yet to call her or message her via her new number. They'd basically been out of contact for the past three days. Just her luck, that Yamato would choose to hang out with Takeru at the exact same time.

'Did you call him?' she asked. She wondered if she should have called Takeru, not that he'd responded to any of her prior messages.

Yamato shrugged - he might've forgotten, but if he had, he didn't seem too mindful. Unconcerned, he told her, 'Takeru will welcome the company. I was planning to just waltz in and hang around. Maybe make a little dinner-'

'I was going to do that too.' Hikari said pleasantly.

'We still can - God knows we have enough ingredients.'

'Sounds like a plan.' She said, adding cheekily, 'A completely green-fuzz-free meal.'

'Sure thing. Why do you think I wanted to make sure the kitchen was stocked this time?' Yamato asked with a contagious grin, nudging Hikari with one of his bags.

Everything had been moving so fast. He hadn't meant to pull the entire cutlery drawer out of the cupboard as he slumped to the floor. Takeru figured - hey, he was always figuring things - that lying on a flat surface would feel remotely steadying.

He still felt dizzy. Everything was still spinning. It didn't make any sense.

He felt sick, but he knew he wasn't going to be sick. He wasn't _sick_ , sick. Just... he was ill. He was burdened. Stressed? No, his mother was stressed. His dad was stressed. Takeru still thought that those stresses were partially his fault. Wholly his fault. He wasn't supposed to make people worry, right? He was the angel. But being an angel wasn't really his thing anymore - it was too hard, and too unrelenting.

The angel was inside him. He wanted it gone. He wanted _his_ real happiness.

To think, people usually came to him for help. The very idea, looking at him now, was so laughable that he was actually laughing. But how could he be crying at the same time? He rolled over, onto his chest, onto his back, and again onto his chest. Takeru managed to fish an offending spoon from underneath his ribs and with careless aim he flung it out of his way. Here he was, the group psychiatrist, chucking spoons around his mother's apartment like his usually-level-head wasn't exactly all level. He didn't think anyone would want his advice if they saw him like this. This might even be the real him. Maybe they would finally offer _him_ some advice for a change...

Angel. _Angel_. Where was that even coming from? He hated that word so much right now. He didn't want to be an angel, even if everyone would hate him if he wasn't. Takeru was so fed up with the title. How could he even be an angel? He wasn't perfect, though he had certainly tried in his time. He was just Takeru. Wasn't he? What did he really know about being good? People asked him his opinion, but overrode him when it really came down to it. He was just a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on.

Whose shoulder could he cry on? Not Mom's, or Dad's - certainly not Yamato's, and definitely not Hikari's. He couldn't do that to her.

His sweatshirt felt strangling, so he pulled it off - his t-shirt came off with it, by accident. As the clothes went over his head, it felt like darkness had taken over - the few seconds it took felt like a complete hour, and when his head was free again, hair ruffled, he was enveloped in light. It was so bright; his eyes almost began to ache; his perception was vague, the light was intense; he didn't even mind so much.

Takeru felt like he was carrying the world on his back - he felt so heavy, so heavy that he couldn't even get up off the floor. His body was pressed down, and when he twisted to have a look, he could see nothing but the bright light. He patted the floor behind him - his hands looked like they were bending at odd angles, but they felt fine. _Huh_. He pawed at his back, and pulled his hand away, staring wide-eyed at the handful he had so suddenly acquired.

He had a handful of long, soft feathers. Completely white, so pure and elegant. It was so wrong.

He couldn't be an angel. He didn't want to. Why was this happening? He wasn't having it. A knife on the floor, beside him, caught his attention and though he struggled to pick it up, he held it deftly. He could feel the protrusions near his shoulders - his _wings_. He could get rid of them. That, Takeru figured, was the only solution. Tear his wings off, tear them apart. He refused to be perfect for anyone anymore. He would cut them away.

And so, he slashed.

It didn't even hurt at first. Four rough lines - two for each wing - down from his shoulder to the small of his back. The first pair of cuts had been the most difficult, and though he couldn't quite see it, he knew there was blood everywhere. Sacrifices are tall orders, but they had to be made. Once one was gone, he could see feathers flying everywhere. Little white spots everywhere, floating both in the distance and right in front of his face. It was like he could feel them ticking his nose and landing in his hair. The second sets of cuts were cleaner - he'd managed to sit up and used his reflection in the fridge door to remove the wing.

Why were his ears ringing?

Once he was done, he felt proud for having actually finished the job. Takeru dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor - the noise reverberated, and the ringing didn't stop. The weight was gone though, making Takeru relieved above all else. His head ached, and now his back was on fire, but he couldn't close his eyes. He was so awake. Maybe he was still dying, he didn't know, but for the first time in a long time, Takeru didn't feel hollow. He could feel everything. This was what anti-depressed was. He thought he might cry in relief.

'You got keys?' Yamato asked her, his hands full with shopping bags.

Hikari fumbled for a second, fishing her keys out of her pocket. 'Yeah. Takeru's- _your_ mom gave me one of the spares.'

The spare set was the same one that he himself had given back to his mother when he moved into the city for university. It still had the little picture keychain on it - a picture of Yamato and his mother. Hikari hadn't replaced it, or taken it off at all - that was nice of her.

When Hikari had got the door open, they stepped in; the lights were off and the curtains were drawn completely - was Takeru asleep? It was so dark. He might not even be home. They slipped off their shoes, and Yamato was about to lock the door when Hikari asked him, 'Did you break something in one of your bags?'

'What? Why?' He asked quickly, checking his bags.

'Can't you smell that?'

At first he didn't. But when he concentrated, he picked up the irony, rusty smell. He knew what it was, and that was no grocery item. 'What the hell?'

The light of the television was the only thing illuminating the hallway before Hikari flicked the light switch on. They trod forward with the shopping.

And then they saw Takeru on the floor.

He was covered in long scratches and cuts and blood - why was there blood everywhere? A bloody handprint on the fridge, blood smears on the floor, on the kitchen cabinet. Hikari had dropped her grocery bag - the bottles inside had probably smashed, she dropped them with such force. Yamato rushed forward too, kicking stray cutlery on the floor out of their way.

Takeru was in fact conscious; his blue eyes shimmered with tears as he sobbed in a little puddle of his own blood. He was shaking and fidgeting and crying - what had happened? There were two massive cuts raking down his back and little cuts everywhere else.

Holding his head and forcing him to face her, Hikari shouted his name. But, she failed to get his complete attention. He barely acknowledged her presence – his eyes were focused on a space in front of her. She picked up the stray dishcloth and pressed it to the wounds, and Takeru immediately tried to shoo her away, flailing.

'Takeru, what happened?!' She cried, while Yamato quickly got up and grabbed the house phone to call an ambulance.

Takeru didn't answer her question. 'D-do you see 'em? So… _so_ fucking pretty...'

Hikari asked, frightened, 'What? See _what_ , Takeru?'

'You can't see 'em? The feathers… I- I _refuse_ to- oh fuck...'

Takeru shifted and slumped against her, as if he had lost his balance, before regaining some kind of control and composing himself.

Hikari looked up at Yamato and repeated, as if he would correct her, 'Feathers?'

Looking back at Takeru, she asked desperately, 'Refuse to do _what_ Takeru? What happened to you?'

'Hikari, don't. I've called an ambulance, but I don't know what they'll say about these...'

She looked up, and saw Yamato; in his hands, he held a little orange, cap-less bottle. He shook it, but there was barely a rattle. He told her, '…these are my- were my anti-depressants. From before.'

Yamato's _before_ wasn't something they talked about – it had been rough, but they'd all made it through. That had been so long ago that Hikari didn't even click his meaning straight away. Yamato came up to Takeru, crouching down and resting the boys head in his lap to ask hurriedly, 'Takeru, bro, how many of these did you take? It's really important-'

'I don't... I don't remember, didn't count, so many days to count for... I'm _sorry_ , Yamato-san, but I _need_ them so much and I-'

He started to laugh - maybe he found his own desperation a little funny? Hikari was horrified by his malapropos behaviour. Through teary, choking sniggers, he said, 'I think I know what ' _Knife of Day_ ' means now, Onii-chan-'

'Takeru!' Yamato castigated, trying to still him as Hikari reached hurriedly for paper towels.

Trying to shuffle away, Takeru said blithely, 'I kinda made a mess, huh? Mom is _not_ gonna be happy when she comes back.'

Yamato shushed him, and said to Hikari in a spillage of words, 'He's tripping, 'Kari. I don't... These pills are so old, like years old. I didn't even know they were still in the house!'

'Is he going to be ok?' She asked him softly, now trying to staunch the bleeding with wads of rolled tissue – the cuts were so long, it was a wonder how Takeru had even managed to make them.

'Angels are always fine, aren't they 'Kari?' Takeru mumbled, still crying. He sounded contently drunk, and sad and yet completely oblivious at the same time. He continued hazily, 'I refuse to be an angel. No one to look after angels. Angels always do the looking after.'

'Shh,' Hikari interrupted, looking at Yamato in horror. What was he saying? He sounded so sure, but he wasn't himself, was he?

Yamato couldn't believe his own assumption, he had to hear him say it - he dreaded hearing the answer he suspected would come from his little brother. 'Takeru, did _you_ do this? To yourself?'

'I didn't... didn't want to be an angel anymore! Don't you see all the feathers? I- I cut 'em off. Got rid of them. So soft... it didn't hurt so I must have done good…'

Hikari cried at him in frustration as Takeru again began to laugh weakly; he was comparatively satisfied with his work. He sighed contently as his eyelids started to droop over his sore, bloodshot eyes - he was finally fully human, and now _everyone_ would see. He let the darkness take him, wondering if he'd finally be soothed after years in the blinding light. Maybe Hikari would get rid of her wings too, and join him? He could hear her faint cries for him to keep his eyes open, but he was so far gone, and so tempted by sleep, and weary with relief and loss and hope for the future. There wasn't anything angelic about him anymore, he didn't think. It didn't feel like he'd ever have to think so hard about anything so confusing ever again.

He was free, wasn't he? So why, in the last milliseconds before he collapsed, unconscious, did it feel like he was falling instead of flying?


	2. Chapter 2

Takeru came to, and in his head, he moaned with frustration.

Where was he?

A small shift of his body was all it took for shocks of pain to course down his back. His head ached slightly - he'd had worse, it wasn't so noticeable in comparison to the ones he'd had before. His eyes and his mouth and his lips and his face felt dry - but he didn't want to move. Didn't want to speak. Didn't think he really could, his throat felt so parched.

What had happened?

Oh, that's right. He'd gotten too... _lax_ at home. Or, at least, that's how Takeru thought of it. Now that he thought about it - even thinking hurt - he could remember seeing Hikari and Yamato briefly. Had they brought him here? Probably. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he closed his eyes and settled back down in the bed, trying not to rough up his back too much. It was tender as fuck.

He tried to think logically. He wasn't at the hospital - the hospital only had wards, and he could tell that he was completely alone. But, he was still bandaged up pretty heavily. Filling in the gaps in his memory, he guessed he must have been at the hospital at some point before being dropped off here, wherever he was. At least the room smelt nice. Smelt like fresh flowers... maybe, Sora had been by to visit him.

Sora was one of his favourite people. She was his older sister - the most caring person he'd ever had in his life. Yamato cared too, and so did his parents, but she was different. Like Hikari, she cared because she wanted to. He respected her a lot. She would sit with him a lot - sometimes to bug Yamato and Taichi, but mostly to genuinely see if Takeru was ok. If he was feeling down, he knew she'd keep him company without ever pressing him when he wasn't ready to talk - he had done a few stints at the Takenouchi flower shop when he was free. Sora was the best.

There wasn't anyone immediately around. He was sure he heard some shuffling outside, but he was alone for the moment. Opening his eyes slowly, he blinked rapidly and rubbed them tiredly. The room itself looked cosy; the walls were a fresh orange, and at the foot of his bed was a stack of heavy-looking blankets. The bedside table was out of his reach - but there, as he had guessed, was a vase of flowers. And it was even surrounded by several cards. They were all facing out, so he couldn't even see them properly. It didn't help that it hurt to turn his neck.

So, with nothing immediate to do, Takeru settled again in the covers and closed his eyes. Just as well - for as soon as he did, breathing deeply in an attempt to sleep, light footsteps announced the arrival of a person into the room. He was pretty sure it was Hikari. Her resigned sigh gave it away, as she sat down beside him and stroked his hair from his face. She didn't say anything, nor did she make any movement to suggest that she knew he'd woken up. Takeru was sure that she was disappointed with him for what he'd been doing – not that he'd expect them to understand why.

Hikari made to tuck his disturbed sheets back in, and Takeru instinctively flinched and pushed them back; had he blown his cover? He didn't think he was quite ready to speak to Hikari on his own yet. She certainly knew him well - she left the covers as they were and got up to open a window - the latch cracked as she pulled it and the wave of fresh, cooler air doused the stuffiness that was beginning to throttle Takeru in his bed.

He picked up another scent too - did Hikari smell of... burnt chocolate? That was odd. Takeru wondered if he was at the Yagami residence - Hikari's mother was a little infamous amongst them and their friends for her cooking credentials. Hikari usually smelt sweet, or maybe that was the result of the floral tones in her hair. Not that Takeru would ever admit to knowing what floral tones were. He didn't think he'd ever be able to explain to Taichi how he knew what specific scents and soaps Hikari used.

She moved back towards him, and sat back down, and returned her hand to his face to hold his cheek and brush his hair. Takeru had to admit, the contact was immediately soothing, and he felt his face fully relax under her touch. He even moved slightly, his head stretching to press further into her hand - she pulled away instead, poking at his pillows instead to ensure they were as light as ever. Hikari sighed again, and seemed to breathe deeply herself.

'I'm sorry, Takeru.'

Takeru thought he was dreaming for a second. Hikari was apologising to him? Takeru hadn't felt this physically drained or mentally liberated in weeks - he should be thanking her, really. Her voice was quiet and sincere, and sad. That wasn't right. Hikari wasn't supposed to be sad. What had he done?

'I should have been there. I've been saying this for so long... You can't even hear me.'

How long Takeru had been unconscious, he didn't know. Had it been longer than a week? That was worrying. Even he knew that naps of such length were unnatural.

'I'm still hoping that you'll wake up today, y'know-'

He'd been concentrating on her voice so hard, that Takeru had missed the entrance of more people.

'Hikari, you ok?' said Daisuke, coming up to them and presumably putting a supportive hand on Hikari's shoulder.

Hikari didn't answer. Takeru wondered what she was thinking.

The fourth person in the room didn't say anything either. But Takeru could sense them standing solitarily to his left. Daisuke had come to visit him - the other was probably Iori, or Ken. Miyako was too loud a person to be this quiet now, even given the situation, and she would never have come with Daisuke on her own. It was quite the situation Takeru had created...

'Hikari, you need to-'

Hikari resisted somewhat bitingly, 'Daisuke, don't tell me what to do.'

'When was the last time you had something to eat, Hikari? Last night?'

It was Ken. Takeru was upset by his insinuation; if Hikari wasn't looking after herself, anything that happened to her was entirely his fault. She was his responsibility. His guilt must have shown, for Hikari resumed stroking his hair again. She replied reluctantly, 'I'm fine, Ken, really, I just-'

'You need to eat. Takeru wouldn't be happy if he knew you weren't eating properly.'

'Damn right I wouldn't.' Takeru thought.

Hikari argued stubbornly, still talking quietly, 'I am too eating properly. I'm ok, it's just... You both don't under-'

Ken finished, 'You don't want to leave. It's alright, really, we get it.'

Meeting halfway, he added, 'Can't we bring something for you then? You can have it here. Daisuke is right; you've got to keep up your energy.'

Daisuke was fidgeting with his jacket zip - the noise was annoying. Ken must have figured too that Daisuke was agitated, and asked him, 'Why don't you get something from that noodle place from-'

Daisuke answered, 'Yeah, ok, I'll get us all something. I'll be right back.'

Ken added hastily, 'Here, take this, it's on me-'

'You sure?'

'Yeah. I'll come with. I'll be right behind you.'

With that, Daisuke left. Hikari had stilled in her seat, but Takeru could feel her exhaustion.

'You need to talk about it, Hikari...' Ken said finally, pulling Hikari out of her reverie.

She folded her arms, and replied, 'I don't, and I won't. Takeru's the one who needs your help.'

'Hikari, if you think no one will understand then you're wrong-'

'I...' Hikari began, resistant, before standing and pacing. 'I don't.'

'Everyone was at fault. None of us saw this coming, and we're all kicking ourselves. You're not alone. He didn't tell anyone about his, um, _medication_. You can't blame yourself.'

Hikari sounded weepy, and he heard her sit back down in a defeated huff. Takeru didn't like that at all. She said softly, 'I just... why didn't I see it? I was with him just a few days before and he seemed fine. He never said anything - what kind of friend am I? He was there, on the floor, I didn't know if he was overdosing or what, but he pushed me away. I didn't help.'

Ken's words sounded weary, like he'd said them a lot. 'I know you feel responsible, but you _aren't_ , Hikari. You're a good friend to him.'

'How do you know that? You weren't there. He... he'd... I don't even know where to start. I don't even want to think about it.' she replied.

Ken's voice was comparatively calm. 'Look, I'm sorry, I-'

'No,' Hikari stopped him, suddenly more grounded, 'I'm sorry. I guess I'm always going to blame myself for this. I don't mean to take it out on you.'

'It's alright. Whatever you need.'

'Thank you, Ken.'

Ken left also - probably to catch up to Daisuke before the boy bought more food than they really needed. After holding his hand and giving it a squeeze, Hikari stood up, the chair scraping slightly on the wooden floor as she too left, possibly to see them out. Her footsteps petered out until Takeru couldn't hear them anymore.

Opening his eyes again, he saw he was alone and sighed with relief. He wondered how vulnerable he looked - no wonder Hikari was scared for him now, he'd practically assaulted himself. Takeru hoped they, his friends, understood the gravity of the situation as much as Hikari did; he wanted them to care for once. To be there for him and not the other way around or any other way. Did he feel bratty, sure, but did he care anymore? Absolutely not. Maybe sometimes, but that was different.

Takeru liked it, oddly. He knew he shouldn't be happy, but he was somewhat satisfied by the turn of events. Satisfied, but still feeling shit overall. Most of his problems weren't even solved yet. Only recognised. But, there had to be a start somewhere. His problems... what had he been complaining about again?

Takeru considered his problems carefully, mulling his choices over. He could talk them through with Hikari - of all people, she might understand where he was coming from. But then again, she would only blame herself and that wasn't something he wanted. Hikari wouldn't understand the divorce stuff he had gone through either; while most of the families of his friends were combinations of happy and well-balanced and still _intact_ , his own was none of those things.

His family had sort of imploded from the inside, and Takeru had watched everything burn away. More of his time was spent with friends than with family, and he'd been spending even more time alone than with his friends in recent months. His parents were a whole other crisis that he couldn't really put to words. It was a headache to consider, and yet they were so vital to his life. Maybe Hikari could understand - he'd just have to try really hard to explain himself.

Suddenly, like his very own guardian, she was there; stood in the doorway and looking down at him with a soft smile. He hadn't even heard her come back in; he had been staring into space. She looked like she hadn't slept properly in a while - and from what she'd said before, his assessment was probably very accurate - and yet she was still radiant and pretty. He could tell that her hair was longer; it was tied in a messy bun. and she even had in hair-clips he'd bought her for her birthday. Funnily enough, the jumper she was wearing was his, too. She'd 'borrowed' it before they'd even gotten together and had sort of just kept it. He thought she looked better in it - Takeru being who he was, he thought she looked good in anything. The tired look around her eyes was worrying though.

He coughed, and said through his dry throat, 'Hey, 'Kari.'

She came in and sat beside him, pouring a glass of water out and letting him sit up so she could bring it to his lips. As he drank, she replied, 'How're you feeling?'

For a split second, she had a look on her face as if she wondered if that was such a good question to ask.

Takeru answered with renewed clearness, 'Yeah, I'm ok. My back fucking kills, though.'

The answer didn't really satisfy her, and she weakly pushed him back onto the pillows before getting on the bed and cuddling beside him. With her weight next to him, he felt more grounded – and even pressed against her like he was, his back didn't hurt as much.

'Sorry, that was stupid of me to ask.' she said, her head resting against his chest as she gripped his sheets. She couldn't really argue with him, it wouldn't be fair of her to.

He moved his hand to cuddle her back, and exhaled a weak breath. 'I...'

She looked up at him, and kissed his cheek. 'If you don't want to talk to me, it's ok. I understand, really. But you need to tell someone what's going through your mind. Your parents-'

'Hikari, I love you.'

She relaxed in his half-hug, and said in a voice just muffled by his chest, 'I love you too, ok?'

The moment of silence that followed was killer. He felt cheap – he couldn't love her properly, not right then. He was still sorting out his lies from his truths. She was probably going to expect some kind of exuberant, open display of his undying affection. If he was being honest, he thought he could hear a hint of condescension in her voice, like she was explaining a simple fact to a moron. He was being dramatic, he knew. His head was everywhere.

'Ok.' He accepted lamely.

When had things become so different between them? Takeru felt like there was a brick wall between them, despite his arm being around her shoulders. They used to be so in sync – ok, that was a lie. Hikari would go her own way and Takeru would shadow her.

'I almost made you chocolate-chip cookies, but the two batches I made were abysmal and I ran out of ingredients.'

Humouring her, Takeru chuckled nervously, 'I'm sure they weren't that bad.'

He was nervous – he felt like everything that came out of his mouth was a lie. Even his comforting words were lame. He should have really been telling her that she shouldn't ever pick up a cooking utensil again in her life (a harsh truth), but that wasn't his way. He felt a bit bad for trying to make her feel better.

Luckily, she sensed his awkwardness, and said with a dark laugh, 'Trust me, these were beyond saving. I'll learn eventually.'

They lay in silence, before Takeru could no longer stifle his curiosity.

'So where are we?'

'Your dad's place. He re-did this room for you. Your mom only got back recently - her phone broke while she was away, so it took us longer to get a hold of her. The doctors discharged you, but gave you a lot of sleeping pills and painkillers and stuff like that. You've been here about a week, couple of days.'

'Oh. Shouldn't I be back at my mom's?'

'Maybe. But the doctors said that they didn't want you moved around too much. Your mom was a bit annoyed that she didn't find out about everything earlier than when she did but, I guess that's how the cookie crumbled.'

'Huh.' Takeru accepted.

Takeru, what do you remember?'

'I was at home... I mean, my mom's, and I was just on my own, y'know?' He tried simply.

He didn't dare mention the feathers and white light he'd also remembered. He didn't say anything about the bloody wings that he'd butchered and laid out on the kitchen floor. They weren't real; he'd gotten rid of them. He remembered laughing at stupid little things, and making a mess in his mother's apartment.

Takeru had been so fucking pleased with himself. Why didn't he feel that way now?

She _seemed_ to accept his answer, because she replied, 'Right, ok. I mean, you've been sort of waking up on-off a couple of times since you've been here. Maybe everything's finally worn off. The stuff they gave, and the amounts, it's a wonder to me that you even remember what you do.'

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Takeru...'

He looked down, failing to catch her gaze – she looked pained, and her voice dropped so quietly that he almost missed her distressed doubts. '... Did I push you away? Did I do something? That- that made you upset, or not trust me?'

Silence.

'I just can't help but think that I-'

'No!' Takeru said fiercely, coughing a bit more - maybe he wasn't completely rehydrated. 'You've _never_ upset me-'

'Takeru!' she refused emphatically, sliding up the bed so that their faces were level. Less forcefully, she said, ' _Please_. Talk to me, then.'

Takeru bit his lip, having quickly lost the will to speak. What was he supposed to say? That he didn't want to burden her, like he felt she had burdened him, even though it was his duty to accept all of her problems as his own? He couldn't put any words to that. He could not blame her. It wasn't even her fault, really. Why was his thinking all over the place? Nothing would make any sense to her or anyone else because the words he needed to explain his thinking just did not exist.

'I... It's nothing to do with you, Hikari, honestly.'

He pulled her in for another hug, but she didn't move into it.

'Takeru, you and I both know that's not an explanation.' She slipped off of the bed, and back onto the chair.

Takeru couldn't really say anything to that, and just looked at her dumbly. He didn't want to lie so much. He bristled at her sudden demeanour. Was he betraying her, by not clearing the air and appeasing her? By denying her a proper reason, an acceptable _excuse_ , for his actions?

And then, out of nowhere, she softened and said, 'I'm sorry. I'm pressuring you, you must be worn out and here I am shouting at you-'

'You're not shouting at me, 'Kari.'

Hikari looked at him, her eyes defeated. 'I'm not being a very good best friend.'

Takeru frowned, saying disbelievingly, 'Hikari, you're so much more to me-'

'I know. I... I need to tell everyone that you're up. Well, I'll say fully conscious and lucid.' She started, their heartfelt conversation dissolving into her nervous babble. Takeru just nodded as she continued, 'And Daisuke and Ken were just here and your parents will want to know, plus the guys were going to come and visit tonight-'

'The guys?'

'The old crowd.' Hikari stated, taking his hand. 'Yamato has been really worried. He and I... we found you the day you were brought to the hospital.'

'Oh... I- Yamato's ok, right?'

Hikari shrugged her shoulders, and absentmindedly began rubbing his hand again. 'You know how he is... he doesn't really say much, does he?'

Takeru nodded and Hikari made to leave, jumping up.

'Wait, Hikari…'

Hikari looked back at Takeru's deep-thought face and she assured, 'Stop worrying Takeru.'

'I'm not, I just… can you hold off on calling my parents? I just, I don't want you guys to get sent away. They can see me straight after for as long as they want. I just…'

He couldn't really explain. Luckily, his girlfriend was perceptive.

'Ok, Takeru, I won't call them. But, they'd be annoyed with me if they found out I didn't tell them straight away.'

Takeru wasn't so sure about that, but hid his doubt behind a smile as Hikari left to make some calls.

When Yamato walked in about an hour and a half later, followed by Sora, Hikari and Taichi, Takeru felt no apprehension. His brother was here for _him_ now - he'd looked after him, been there while Takeru had been openly sick. Takeru thought Yamato was going to solve everything like he used to do when they were kids.

'Onii-chan-'

' _Don't_ … call me that.' Yamato ground out, striding forward and coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. Leaning as close as he could without being close, Yamato shouted, 'What the _hell_ were you thinking, Takeru? Are you fucking mad? You almost killed yourself!'

Takeru's good hopes deflated, and his heart all but shattered. Yamato hated him.

The older continued, shaking Sora's hand off his shoulder, 'And what's worse, you didn't fucking tell anyone! _Drugs_ , Takeru? You are no brother of mine, because my brother Takeru isn't half as stupid as _you_ are-!'

'Yamato!' Sora shouted, cutting him short. 'Stop, you're scaring him!'

Takeru was shaking. He didn't even know he was shaking, or swearing, or even that his cheeks where shiny with tears. He didn't feel any of it until Hikari sat down beside him and put her arm gently around his shoulder, lending her support. Takeru could feel that same hollowness again - the one he'd ended up in hospital trying to avoid. Yamato hated him.

Yamato turned and said, 'Sora, stay out of this, he needs to know how _insane_ he was!'

Hikari argued back, 'I was there too! Don't act like you were the only one-!'

Suddenly everyone's voices were raised, and Takeru was back at home; hiding under his covers during the night and trying to drown out the shouting and fighting and screaming going on outside his door, silently begging for everyone to just stop and get along, if for nothing else than just for him. But his parents hadn't, way back when. So why would these guys? He felt like he was shrinking away.

He was helpless.

Yamato shouted at Hikari, 'How can you be so calm? What he did means _nothing_ to you?'

Hikari replied, 'I'm being sensible, Yamato! What else should I be doing?'

'You should be agreeing with me! Takeru clearly isn't in his right mind-'

A small voice pleaded under the loudness, 'Make them s-stop,'

Taichi defended his sister, 'And hey! Hikari's been here for Takeru just as much as you have! Get a grip-'

'I don't think she cares!'

Hikari got up from her seat besides Takeru, incensed, and stood up to Yamato with a pointing finger. 'How dare you? Takeru is everything to me! Of course I wish I knew about this before this happened but at least I'm here for him, while _you_ just barge in to shout and fight, and scream at him-'

'Hikari, _stop_.'

Sora was sat with Takeru with the angriest look on face, and the other three looked on guiltily; she had Takeru's arms around her waist, supporting him as he shook, hiding his head with her body. He clung desperately onto her, begging in breaths, 'Onee-san make them stop!'

Hikari felt sick. She had been sat right next to him, but she hadn't heard him over her own righteousness and anger. The tension had been deafening.

Sora shushed Takeru, stroking his head as the others shut up, soothing, 'Takeru, please stop.'

It was like a barrier had been broken. He couldn't comply with her wish. He couldn't stop. For so long, he had held his tongue, buried everything, hushed up his concerns. Takeru tried, but the strangling sensation hurt and in seconds he was crying again. Why couldn't he stop? He didn't even care – or at least, that was what he tried to convince himself. He felt stupid for calling Sora his sister - she probably wished she was anywhere else instead of where she was at that moment. He wasn't supposed to cry this much - he couldn't be a cry-baby, they'd never let him forget. He didn't want them to see.

'I'm sorry...' Takeru stammered, finally gaining a semblance of self-control. He couldn't look at anyone though.

Hikari, her annoyance getting the better of her, said sharply, 'Takeru, don't _apologise_. You've done nothing wrong.'

 _'Nothing wrong?'_ Yamato repeated incredulously, turning away from Hikari (at whom he'd been glaring at) to glare instead at Takeru. 'Dad _cried_! Because of _you_ -'

Takeru's face lost what was left of its colour. His dad - their dad - who was always so collected and calm and forward-thinking, had cried over him? Yamato definitely hated him. 'I didn't mean to-'

Yamato kissed his teeth, and berated, 'Of course you didn't mean to, sure, you just took pills to hurt yourself, didn't you? You overdosed! You didn't think about how any of us, how mom or dad would feel, or how _I_ -!'

He stopped, his tirade cut short by his lack of breath. He'd poured all of his rage out, scalding the boy in the bed.

Takeru defended, 'I thought I could fucking handle it! And I was. I just slipped up.'

'And that's how you handle things when shit gets tough, huh?'

Takeru got the message; his brother hated him. Yamato looked at him once more, and their eyes met. For a second, Takeru thought his eyes showed genuine concern but the glimmer was quickly replaced by sparks of anger and with speed, Yamato retreated from the room entirely.

'Yamato! Wait!' Hikari shouted as she chased after him – Takeru understood; the two of them needed to resolve their quarrel. Things had been said, and hopefully Hikari could stop Yamato from hating him. Takeru wondered if he could patch things up with as much simplicity; he was scared, and resigned, and he couldn't help but feel incredibly defeatist.

Taichi must have seen the hopeless look in Takeru's eyes, for he sat down in the abandoned chair and said with comforting warmth, 'Cheer up, buddy, Hikari'll sort him out. He'll come around.'

Trying not to sound so rough, Takeru replied dully, 'He hates me.'

Still stroking his shoulder, Sora quickly asserted, 'He doesn't hate you, Takeru. He's just upset.'

Takeru let out a grim scoff. 'Yeah,' he said, clarifying, 'because of _me_. I was so stupid…'

Taichi and Sora couldn't find the energy to argue with him; perhaps, Takeru had acted stupidly. Takeru knew it, his two pseudo-siblings knew it – _everyone_ knew it. They were probably just shocked into silence by his bluntness.

But Takeru didn't think he was the only stupid one.

What about the rest, those that had ignored him when he needed help? Where were they? Where had they been?

Where were they all, now?

'Takeru?'

He jumped out of his reverie. Sora was trying to get his attention. Had he spaced out? He'd lost track of himself.

Mood swings, huh?

'I'm fine.' Takeru insisted stubbornly, not that anyone had asked.

He didn't even sound wholly sure of himself.

'We… ok, buddy.' Tai said.

His acceptance of Takeru's sureness was clearly forced. Takeru found that he cared little - Tai wouldn't understand, anyway.

None of them would understand.

Takeru wiped his eyes again, and sat in resolute silence. Underneath the cold façade, he was incredibly nervous. He didn't want to lose anyone else, but he couldn't – didn't want, to reach out any further to the others in the room. He couldn't… he was embarrassed. His throat felt like it was steadily closing up and he felt like he had snakes contorting in his stomach and again, he could find no other time more apt than the present for his bed to swallow him whole.

Where was that hate now? That little shred of self-confidence, that self-reassurance… for a moment it was like his head was completely clear, like he had a direction. But now, as he looked away from the awkwardly-comforting gazes of his friends – awkward only because of the profound effect they were having on him – he didn't know where to go from here.

'Takeru, would you like more water? Jyou said that plenty of fluids would be good-'

Shutting Sora up, he snapped, 'I'm fine.'

He needed to be strong. Maybe, then, he'd be able to forgive himself for falling apart so readily. Hikari didn't need to – _none of them_ needed to see that.

Taichi frowned. 'Takeru, you need to look after yourself. Your throat sounds dry, and you look like you could really use a drink.'

Taichi had been looking at him. The thought alone terrified Takeru – what had the older boy, his second older brother in all but blood, seen in him to be so concerned? Besides the pills and the upset and the depression and the arguing and the hate and the evil-

Takeru suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

Luckily, Hikari walked through the door. Her returned presence was welcome; she would back him unconditionally. Well, Takeru hoped so. She sat down on the chair by the bed, and sighed. On his other side, Sora was pouring him a glass of water anyway. Takeru would bet that he would probably end up drinking it, Sora having ways to deal with the most stubborn of them.

If they could see how shitty his state of health was, what else were they thinking about him? Takeru didn't know why he was wondering – he already knew.

He was pathetic.

It was almost funny, how low he'd stooped.

His stomach churning, he scooted away from Sora and looked away. He couldn't stand to be around anyone anymore. Not at that moment. Just his luck, then, that Hikari returned and sat down beside him with a huff.

'Your brother needs a good slap to the face, Takeru.'

' _Hikari_.' Taichi chastised.

Hikari grimaced. 'Sorry, but it's true. He's failing as far as brothers go, right now.'

Funny – Takeru was the failure, not Yamato. They were all blind… Couldn't they see him failing right in front of them? Of course Yamato could see it, they were brothers. One would think that the others would judge him for what he'd done, and yet Takeru was still the innocent one.

Why did he find them so comical?

He started laughing, disbelieving an sickened; Takeru didn't really know why. Ok, he did – they were being stupid. _He_ was pathetic. _He_ was depressed. _He_ had repressed his feelings for too long. Everything was spilling out, like a there was a fissure in his heart.

And they were all blind.

His laugh wasn't sprightly, but bitter and resigned and fucking _mournful_. He really had died.

'Fucking _look_ at me! Forget Yamato and everything else for once!'

The others recoiled. Like they should have in the first instance, or so Takeru thought. For once, his mask actually slipped.

'I'm the disappointment! Why aren't you _disappointed?_ ' He shouted, manic as he struggled to laugh at their ignorance and cry at their pitying looks and rage over stunned selves.

Why didn't they see him like he saw himself?

He let out a grievous groan, and dissolved into sobs. Suddenly, tears were flowing, morphing his wet smile into a pained mien of despair. They hadn't cared about him, not when it mattered. His sobs were drowned out as Kari enveloped him in a protective hug, soaking up his tears. Blurting everything out had sent his emotions haywire. The others looked on in guilt as the boy they took for granted broke down; crying for his parents to stop fighting, for his friends to not ignore him, for his dismal life to finish. He'd hit bottom, he'd proven his perfectibility misguided.


	3. Chapter 3

'Daddy?'

'Yeah, kiddo?'

'Neither of us is a happy little buffalo anymore, huh?'

Hmm... I'm not so sure about that, Takeru. We can get happy.'

'But you look so… _sad_.'

Takeru had been so entirely innocent before, and he sounded innocent now as he snuggled deeper into his cartoon-patterned covers. They'd all _ruined_ him - maybe even for life, they'd all spoilt his nature; himself, Takeru's mother, their other son, even Takeru's friends. They'd all had their parts in this. But they were all equally responsible and equally blameless. Takeru's psyche would probably never be the same. Maybe his... _outburst_ was inevitable. The doctor had called it an incident. Takeru's mother had said accident. Yamato had called it a fucking disaster. It was almost depressing how none of them could even agree on a name for Takeru's crisis.

Takeru hadn't called him 'daddy' in a very long time.

Takeru was half-asleep, and he'd had a relatively strong painkiller to help him sleep. He'd started having nightmares again - ironically, there were prescribed drugs to alleviate, instead of aggravate like the ones that had started this whole mess had. To think, both of his sons had now had to rely on anti-depressants at some point.

What had he done wrong? Or rather… what was he doing wrong?

Takeru's dad sat up with him, and listened to his ramblings till he was out like a light for the night. The stitches on Takeru's back had healed, mostly, but it still hurt for him to move around with his skin being so irritated and all. Takeru was recovering really quickly, but the fact that he needed to recover at all was what kept his father up at night. Happy little buffalos... what a stupid idea. Why Takeru had bothered to remember that those tapes even existed (and that his father had ever gone out to buy them in the first instance) was a mystery. Takeru's father wasn't even sure where they were - they must be collecting dust somewhere now that he had stopped using them.

He patted Takeru's leg from above the soft, cool covers, before settling in a chair. He himself wasn't intending to go to sleep, but he prudently assumed he'd fall asleep eventually and he'd much rather do so on something cushioned. He couldn't afford to be grouchy in the mornings anymore - Takeru couldn't ever be expected to be the ray of happy sunshine ever again. His father wouldn't allow it.

They'd all relied on Takeru to pull them along for long enough.

Takeru woke up early the next morning to sounds of shuffling and a soft cry of frustration as a stack of books collapsed in an avalanche on the floor across from the bed. The lights were still off and the curtains were still drawn - but it looked like the midday sun was beating down on the other side. His father was on his knees, knelt down before the cabinet amidst a sea of memorabilia, books and stacks of paper. There were folders, and other knick-knacks all over the place - Takeru thought he might even have difficulty navigating the floor. Tiredly, but slightly more refreshed, he called, 'Dad?'

Takeru's father didn't really react at all. He was sifting through a box on the bottom shelf, pulling out what looked like a knot of spare cables.

'Dad.' Takeru tried again, annunciating more forcefully.

'Hmm?' Came a grunted reply.

'What're you up to?'

'Just, er... hunting.'

'What're you looking for?' Takeru asked, slowly getting out of bed and making his way to the door - grabbing his towel and a fresh change of clothes along the way.

'Something I think you might like.' His father said hopefully, sliding the box in front of him out of his way and pulling a second box towards him. Takeru shrugged, though the older man couldn't see him, and carried on with his ablutions.

When he sat down to eat his small bowl of cereal, his father didn't ask him if he wasn't feeling well like he usually always did - Takeru didn't have much of an appetite these days. He was… _smiling_. Takeru looked warily as he started his meagre breakfast, and his father stared right on back, looking oddly triumphant.

With a sigh, Takeru started, 'Dad, c'mon, what's going on? I can't eat with you watching me like that-'

'I found it.'

He placed an old and slightly-scuffed Walkman on the table, and pushed it forward like an offering to his son. Where had he even pulled those from? Had he been holding it behind his back the whole time?

He said without much concern, 'They didn't help me, but, you might find they work for you. No harm in trying.'

The grazing-migrating buffalo tapes. Takeru looked at his father, and back at the tape-player.

'Dad, I don't-'

'C'mon, Takeru, you said it yourself last night. If either of us could ever hope to be a happy little buffalo, then it's you.'

A happy little buffalo. Takeru remembered now. He'd spoken about the stress-relief tapes last night? That he didn't remember. What he knew was that his father had probably spent all morning (and maybe all night, the state of him) to find the tape and then gift it to him. Why did it feel so difficult to accept the tape-player and to thank his father for the effort? Maybe it was because he was very sceptical and incredibly doubtful that they'd work at all.

With a lump in his throat, Takeru said, 'Thanks.'

His father looked extremely pleased. Takeru felt bad - he didn't want to be a precious brat and outright say no thanks to the bogus tapes. That might devastate his dad. He didn't think his dad had looked so satisfied in a long time. Takeru didn't want to take the victory (however small) away from him. So he smiled back, and picked up the Walkman.

'I'll try 'em out later.'

His father nodded, and finally started his own breakfast - which was also meagre in size. Takeru hadn't really paid attention to how much his father ate. Did he always skip meals? He knew that the man couldn't cook to save his life, and was about as much of a chef as Hikari and her mother, but... Takeru didn't think his father's life might ever be in this kind of danger.

With practiced subtlety, he tried casually, 'Yamato usually does the cooking, then, huh?'

His father nodded as he chewed through a bite of apple - and once he'd swallowed, said, 'I can cook, Takeru. Yamato just prefers to do it himself.'

The tone suggests that he's kidding, but Takeru frowns. 'Dad, you're eating less than I am.'

With a quirk of his eyebrow, Takeru's father said, 'You don't have to worry 'bout me, Takeru. Eating less is actually good at my age, helps to keep your weight in check. _You_ need to eat more.'

Takeru pulled his bowl closer, protecting it from his father's judging look. 'Dad, c'mon, it's cereal. Cereal's great.'

His father shrugged, going back to his own breakfast and digging in. Takeru relaxed a little, and carried on. The two of them ate in relative silence. That was how they were; peacefully existing.

Usually, Takeru might have provided some means of conversation, but that chirpy attitude had long been put to rest. It was... cooler this way. Calmer. Especially so, considering Yamato wasn't around - his older brother had adopted a hot-headedness that would have once been almost refreshing and a symbol of normalcy, but was now just plain devastating. Takeru was in truth a bit scared of his brother.

Takeru had apologised - he'd fucked up, he knew it, but he'd tried to fix it. He was fixing himself. Albeit slowly, Takeru would have thought that of all people, Yamato would have been able to appreciate the situation Takeru had been in. His father hadn't been particularly impressed with Yamato's behaviour; they'd apparently exchanged words when Takeru hadn't been around, and Yamato had consequently decided to spend some time living with their mother, seeing that Takeru had taken residence where he had.

'Your brother's coming at about half-two, so we'll do lunch once he gets here.'

Takeru almost chocked on his spoon. ' _Yamato_?'

'You don't have another brother, do you? You didn't think he'd stay mad at you forever, did you? Come on, Takeru-'

Takeru let his spoon clatter in his bowl, making his father sigh with a gravelly huff.

'Dad, he looked me right in the eye and said that I wasn't his brother anymore.'

'Takeru... He didn't mean that.'

Takeru didn't know what to think; if anyone was more of an expert on Yamato than Takeru, it was their father. But, Yamato had one hell of a temper, especially when provoked. Takeru hardly ever got angry - this imbalance, Takeru's inability to get pissed-off, was probably what upset Yamato. The fact that Takeru apparently couldn't express his feelings, even such a basic negative emotion, must have been a disturbing idea.

Maybe Yamato had gotten over it - he _was_ coming to see them; this was apparently an undeniable truth. But maybe, their mother had just had a go at him to make him come and visit. Takeru just didn't believe Yamato would take back his words so soon.

For his dad's sake, he allowed, 'I guess we'll see later on.'

His dad didn't look very happy at that response. Maybe, he thought Takeru would be more receptive. Takeru didn't think Yamato would try and make nice so soon. Truth be told, he was still a bit raw from the last time he'd seen him.

Takeru would not even get the time to properly decide if he wanted to be petulant or accommodating towards Yamato, if and when he came.

And the day's prospects had been looking so good…

Takeru and his father were both at the table, reading and sitting idly, when the doorbell rang. The little chime that Takeru had been dreading rang through the apartment, and Takeru's dad got up to answer the door.

Takeru couldn't see the door from where he was sitting; he could only worriedly listen out for Yamato's present mood hidden within the small exchange that occurred before the older men, out of his view.

Takeru knew the second they started to come back. He could feel the anxiety.

Their father stepped back into Takeru's view, and grabbed the crispiest-looking green apple out of the bowl of old fruit before sitting on the furthest end of the table. He looked stoic, but Takeru knew that they were both equally worried – Takeru would not take another beating from his older brother, and their father was pretty much poised to pull them apart, expecting no less.

Why was their dad obsessed with eating apples today?

Yamato came around the corner having taken off what must have been unrelenting boots, from the time it took him to make his way into the apartment – he had never mastered the art of shucking off his shoes, like Takeru had. He looked at their dad, and then at Takeru; Yamato looked rough, but not any more than usual. He slipped off his long coat and draped it on a chair, before sitting down too.

'Hi, 'Keru.'

Takeru really hadn't expected such a gentle tone to come from his brother. The difference to last time they'd spoken (if you could call it speaking) was like day and night. Takeru couldn't think of anything that he really wanted to say.

Yamato seemed to understand; didn't stop him from being a bit put down though.

'You have every right to be pissed at me, but, I think–'

A bitter remark slipped from Takeru's mouth, so instinctive that he didn't even realise that he'd said it until it was too late to take back.

'Oh, so now you're _thinking_. How dangerous.'

Their father's sigh is quiet, but the two sons can both trace the disappointment and frustration.

Unable to help himself, Yamato said quietly, 'You're one to talk about dangerous, Takeru-'

' _Boys_.'

Takeru and Yamato both sat back a little in their chairs – neither having realised that they'd shifted forwards, ready to leap across and pummel the shit out of each other (not that Takeru even had the strength).

Takeru apologised, 'Sorry, Dad.'

'Yeah.' Agreed Yamato.

Their father nodded.

'Takeru… I was wrong. I shouldn't have been such a cunt. You needed me, and I wasn't there.'

Yamato hesitated.

Why? What else did he want to mention? Cleary, he was apologising… Takeru wondered if he had at least spoken to Hikari too. He was right though. He shouldn't have been so angry. Maybe they were just both a bit fucked-up in the head-

'Please forgive me.'

Oh. He was just thinking of a way of saying he was sorry without actually using the word. Despite the obvious sincerity in his words, Takeru couldn't help but accept that his brother was the most stubborn ass in the universe. It was just going to be one of those things. It was annoying, however, regardless.

Should he tell him, or play nice? Takeru both wanted to smash the fruit bowl on the table over Yamato's head, and give his older brother a hug.

Conflicting emotions were weird.

'Ok. If you're _really_ sorry.'

Yamato actually smiled, for once. Practically grinning, the older son said, 'I am, really. Thanks. You know I've got your back.'

Takeru nodded, but the gesture felt awkwardly half-hearted. If Yamato had really had his back, he wouldn't have gotten so angry at him. Was Yamato hoping that he'd apologise too? Hadn't he done so already? It had been devastating enough to have his apology rejected. Takeru didn't really want to even the score; he didn't really have the heart.

Deciding to save that last quandary for when he could consult Hikari, Takeru relaxed and bantered, 'So which death-traps-for-feet did you wear this time? Only _you_ could need half an hour to take your shoes off.'

To Takeru's credit, Yamato smiled. Their father even chuckled a little bit. Takeru's small poke had broken much of the resounding tension.

Yamato said something funny in response, and Takeru smiled. He wasn't really listening anymore. He'd sort of zoned out as soon as he knew things would be ok. He was lost in his thoughts. He wasn't sure whether he was right to have forgiven Yamato so easily. Takeru didn't think he'd given Yamato a free pass to pick on him, but he would understand if Yamato had thought he had…? Did that even make sense?

Takeru didn't know if it was healthy to hold grudges. If it were, he was sure he'd be allowed to hold loads of them. Thinking of all the people he could be angry at made him sick.

That he himself was at the top of the list made him feel sicker.

Apparently, Takeru actually had been sick – vomiting twice, before dissolving into spontaneous tears and eventually tiring himself out.

Apparently, everyone was worried. To be fair, Takeru didn't know what he'd done. It was scary. Something inside of him broke, and he had just stayed broken. Yamato had been watching him for a while, and given him a long hug before going to get some tomato soup – easy on the stomach, and soothing for the soul, perhaps?

Takeru didn't mind tomato soup. He just wished someone had asked first. The little things would amount to something in his head in a way he'd be able to understand. There wouldn't be any room for doubt.

What was he thinking? Of course they loved him. They wouldn't have stuck around if they hated him. His parents hated each other, so they'd left each other and that had been that –

No. They didn't hate each other. They just couldn't… Takeru still didn't fully understand why his parents were so stubborn. He could only ask so many times without a response before deciding that they themselves didn't even have an answer.

As Yamato placed a warm bowl of soup on the coffee table and sat beside him spoon in hand, Takeru wondered when the divorce had really begun to bother him. There had been a time when it hadn't mattered to him, when he'd never thought of himself as coming from a broken home. He couldn't distinctly remember a single point in time when he had decided that it hurt to think about it like it did now.

Or had he always been faking his happiness?

Takeru hadn't read any psychology books. Who was he kidding? There wasn't a clinical way to explain this away… Drugs hadn't helped, _he'd already tried those_.

'Where's Dad?'

Yamato handed Takeru the spoon, and gave his back a rub.

'He's out.'

'Out where?'

'Not sure, bud. He got a call and had to go.'

Takeru accepted the answer – their father was a busy man, and the true embodiment of strained. Takeru knows that if he could have avoided it, his dad wouldn't have gone anywhere. Yamato likely pushed him out the door with reassurance that he'd watch Takeru.

Takeru couldn't blame his father – if his life had been easier, he'd probably be able to, but his conscience wouldn't allow it. His father, and his mother even, were _good_ people. The problem was that the universe was doing everything to stop them from being good parents too. Takeru couldn't see the hope in a world like that.

Yamato seemed to think differently.

'Don't worry, he'll be back before you know it. Plus I said I'd watch you-'

'Yeah, ok.'

He couldn't help that he felt moody. Takeru didn't like that his parents were constantly on the run-around. Yamato wasn't as bothered by it, and that troubled him too.

Shutting himself off with a spoonful of soup, Takeru shifted and decided to concentrate on something else. Getting ill now of all times wouldn't be good. He laughed inside his head – it was times like this that made him feel mature. He was actually looking after his health.

Or well, he was doing the basics. His mental health was a different story.


	4. Chapter 4

Some of his days were real shit, but some turned out ok.

'Yamato reacted too strongly, that's all I'm saying! A little empathy goes a long way - oh that's rich! You know Takeru really needed the company then and I said as much to Yamato - excuse me? I had to go to work! Takeru and I would be on the streets if I hadn't've gone - do you think rent is cheap? I didn't know you were living in such luxury - oh don't start, he's been happy with- I... _Of course_ I love both my sons! How _dare_ you even-!'

Takeru can't help feeling like everything is his fault. It's just the way things usually are - even if no one says it out loud. He knows it himself. People are judging him whether they mean to or not.

Takeru had to leave - the belligerence reminded him too much of _before_ , and he couldn't stay around the noise much longer. Takeru scrambled up from his huddled seat on the floor between his wardrobe and his desk, purposively grabbed a jacket and slipped on his trainers before pacing out of the apartment, desperate to find a quiet place to break down. For a moment, he had an instinctive need to call Hikari - as he'd been taught to in times of distress. But, Takeru thought he could handle it this time.

He was, of course, wrong. He even fumbled with his mobile, but it fell out of his hands - he'd managed to both speed-dial Hikari and end the call with those few measly clicks. Scooping it off of the floor, he shoved the mobile into his pocket and decided not to touch it again. Useless. _So fucking useless_.

He wanted Hikari, or Yamato, or even Sora - whose hugs were calming and reminded him that people really missed him all the time. He was broken now, on his own. He couldn't function without a helping hand. He didn't know if he wanted to be _this_ dependent - he must have been a lot weaker than he thought.

He'd been sitting shakily at the bottom of the apartment staircase for a while, with only grim thoughts and mental demons for company, when his mother appeared and sat down beside him. The body beside him radiated familiar warmth, the kind he'd been searching for only moments before - but Takeru didn't so much as twitch.

His mother was silent at first, maybe considering her words, before she apologised softly, 'I didn't mean to blow up at him. I'm sorry if I... If I _frightened_ you.'

Takeru nodded slowly, though his mother probably knew that there was little true acknowledgement behind the gesture. She sounded like the idea of frightening him frightened _her_. He wouldn't deny that he was worried by the constant battling though - that, he _knew_ , was fair to none of them. They needed to know that he hated it.

She continued, 'He's a good person, really. I know it hurts that we're not on the same page, like, ever. I tried, y'know... when we moved here, your father and I went out a few times. I actually did miss him, and I missed Yamato so much. I thought it was unfair; I mean, seeing the two of them so much more often and, the four of us were genuinely happy together. It was great, but it was never going to last. Your father, he's frustrating... And I guess I must be too.'

Takeru wondered why his mother was telling him all of this.

'We both love you so, _so_ much, Takeru. Don't ever forget that.'

Takeru nodded again, but didn't say anything.

Nudging his side, she carried on somewhat casually, 'I noticed you've started to smoke.'

Takeru's shaking calmed a little as the conversation changed, and he admitted freely, 'That gross, dirty tar taste kinda grows on you. It's distracting I guess, know what I mean?'

'Hmm... I did try them once - your Dad suggested it, and lit one for me, but one puff and it was just so vile and I wouldn't touch them again.'

'But Dad doesn't even smoke.' He observed, fidgeting with his sleeves.

'And he has his ex-wife to thank for that.' She remarked, and he chuckled. His mother was funny, in that sarcastically dry way.

More seriously, she added, 'And _she_ really wants _you_ to stop smoking as well. It's a dangerous habit. You know what happens to your lungs? They fill up with cancerous gunk-'

'Mom, it's ok. I can stop. I'm not really that into them anyway. Someone suggested they'd take my mind off of things...'

'I.e. _Yamato_.' she guessed with an eye-roll.

'No, I mean, it's not like that-'

'Hey, it's ok, as long as you stop eventually. It's not up to me to control what you do with your body - but I'd like to think what I think does matter to you.'

'It does, Mom.'

'And I'm not the only one who thinks you should quit - Hikari's worried about you as well. I think you owe it to her, to get rid of them.'

'Hikari... she thinks I'm made of glass.'

His mother set her hand on his, and rubbed comforting circles on the back of his palm with her thumb. 'Better to be made of glass than to be made of stone. Stone is boring.'

But glass is easy to see through, easier to manipulate and easiest to break, isn't it?

Takeru said, choosing his words carefully, 'If I was more like stone, though, I would be stronger... and braver and not so... so _dependent_ or as irresponsible as I've been recently. I need to get back to normal-'

' _No,_ Takeru. I don't want you to be that person that you used to be. That person, you - you can't keep up a persona forever. It's not fair on you or anyone, and it's not healthy. Don't be sorry for who you are. People feel things - it's natural. If anything, you've been deprived of an environment in which you can share, and that's unfair.'

He frowned; shaking his head, he argued, 'So many people rely on me. I need to be strong.'

'You're stronger than me, 'Keru. You're certainly stronger than your father - that man has the emotional capacity of a tissue box.'

The seriousness in his mother's voice made Takeru laugh, breaking him from his stupor.

'Maybe.' He conceded, turning his hand over so he could hold his mother's properly. He slid over a bit so that they were closer, and together they watched the afternoon sun begin to settle behind some trees and clouds in the horizon. It was still bright out, considering the winter chill that was beginning to climb the apartment building.

'I'm sorry I wasn't there, Takeru. When you were in hospital, even when you were discharged, _I_ of all people should've been there-'

'No, no - it's ok. Please, don't apologise.' he protested quickly, leaning his head on her shoulder. 'I understood. I've already said as much to Dad.'

'But still. That medicine shouldn't have even been there, they'd been left behind and I didn't even know they were there. That at least was my fault.'

Her voice was firm as she took the responsibility; Takeru didn't want to start an argument, and allowed her to keep her stance. He didn't feel good about it, however - his mother already felt bad enough about the whole thing, and had been putting up with a lot of attitude - Yamato had been difficult about Takeru's desire to return to normalcy. Takeru's mother had since been determined to prove everyone wrong. She wanted him to grow instead.

With a decided edge in her calm voice, she told him, 'I'm going to try and reduce my hours, so I can be around more. I've already refused to go on any more business trips. There's a new division that pays just as well for less working hours in office. It'll mean more mother-son time? Especially now that we've got that television fixed. How's that sound?'

Takeru closed his eyes, trying to fight the tightening sensation around his eyes that usually preceded crying. How could he feel so gloriously happy, when people were sacrificing so much for him? He, who had messed up royally and didn't deserve the attention - not really.

'You really don't need to; you've only just got into this job Mom-'

'Sure it'll be tricky to manoeuvre, but think!' His mother said wistfully, ignoring his concerns and leaning forward in thought, 'We'll be able to make real dinners together, every night, and watch movies till late. I'll probably be writing more at home. D'you remember when you used to help me write my articles?'

'Mom, all _I_ did was look up words in the dictionary for you even though you obviously knew how to spell them already.'

His mother laughed, and said in a mock-scandalised tone, 'You _knew?_ Gosh.'

'It's ok, Mom.' He said, sighing. 'It would be fun to hang out more, I guess.'

She smiled at his acceptance, and said pleasantly, 'Good.'

After a while, she slipped down a step and stood up. 'Tea?'

Takeru smiled and shook his head. 'I think I'll just stay here for a while. If that's ok.'

'Sure, sure, of course. I'll see you in a bit, sweetie.' She said, walking back up the stairs.

Before she turned up the next flight, however, she turned back and told him, 'Remember, don't talk to strangers. Be inside by seven, or I'll take your phone off you for the rest of the week.'

Takeru's eyebrows twitched at her strictness. ' _Mom_.'

'Hey, I'm still your mother, I'm always going to worry.' she said, leaving him to himself.

And though she was gone, Takeru replied quietly, 'I know.' And for the first time in a while, he really did know. His mother was always going to be scared for him; she was stubborn at times, and sure, she cracked the whip a lot of the time, but she really did love him more than anyone. That in itself was overwhelming. She was so good to him, and for some reason Takeru didn't think he'd really appreciated that until now. He'd have to work harder to give back.

His head didn't ache like it used it. His thoughts were clearer, and easier on his mind. Hikari was still fussing over him, but he didn't think that was ever going to change now. Anything else, and she just wouldn't be Hikari anymore. His back didn't really hurt anymore either. He felt ready to come off his medication - the doctors had not prescribed him anti-depressants to go along with his pain-killers.

Takeru had hushed up his inner turmoil well enough in front of them, but his parents had discussed therapy with him. He didn't want it. He had his friends back, and they were proving enough for him in the time being. If he was being honest, he was getting kind of bored sitting at home. He was itching for something to do.

His phone buzzed.

A text message? No, it was a fully-fledged phone call.

'Takeru, did you just try to call me? Is everything alright?'

Takeru hadn't even realised that he'd answered; he'd done it so fast and instinctively. He didn't want Hikari to worry.

'Yeah, hi 'Kari, everything's fine. Well, I don't know, I thought I was going to lose it but I calmed down and I guess when I was panicking I tried to call you.'

There was quiet for a few seconds, and some shuffling sounds before she said resolutely, 'I'll be there in a second-'

'No, no, it's fine. _Please_ don't worry. I'm ok.'

'But Takeru-!'

'I talked to my mom. Like, _really_ talked. It was kinda nerve-racking, but we really connected this time. I'm ok.'

Hikari's voice on the other end sounded taken aback by the string of information. 'That's... _great_ , Takeru!'

'She's going to try and cut her hours too, so she can spend more time with me.'

'I'm so happy to hear that, 'Keru, although, now you won't be coming to mine so often...'

She sounded as happy as he felt deep inside. He still felt guilty for all the effort he was responsible for, but it sure felt amazing to finally feel cared for. As Hikari spoke on, keeping him company from a way away, Takeru could feel himself relax. He stretched his legs, and even turned his neck a bit - he didn't realise how tense he'd been until he had eased up.

'Hey, Hikari?'

'Yeah?' she said.

'I've never really thanked you for how good you've been to me.'

Her voice sounded sadder. 'Takeru, don't-'

'No, no, I need to say it.' Takeru said, determined. 'My mom said that you always worry about me, and she's right. And I've never properly thanked you for it. You're perfect, and I'm so glad to have you in my life, so, um, thank you.'

'Takeru...' she said softly, 'that's so sweet.'

He chuckled, and replied, 'Ah, it's nothing.'

She chuckled too - he thought her laugh sounded watery. Had he made her cry? He was trying to be nice. 'Hikari, I haven't upset you have I? I didn't mean-'

'No, no! I'm just being silly, Takeru. You know me. I get emotional at stupid times and I never react properly-'

'Hikari, relax.'

She chuckled on the other end. 'Yes, Takeru-senpai. I know... _breathe_.'

They both laughed, and he bantered, 'Hey, I'm just repeating your tips. You're the teacher here.'

Quickly she replied, 'Oh come on, Takeru, let it be. So, can I still come over? I really wanna see you.'

'I'll ask my Mom if you can stay over. Dinner, and after we can chill in my room-'

'For _dinner_ , 'Keru.'

'Yeah,' Takeru chuckled, blushing.

Despite everything, their relationship was going strong. For a while, Hikari had offered to back off if that was what he wanted, but Takeru admitted that he wouldn't be able to function without her. They'd been reaffirming their... _care_ for one another a lot more recently.

'I'll see you in a bit then. If our parents say it's ok, that is.'

'Sure. See you soon.'

She hung up, and Takeru once again revelled in the evening air.


End file.
